Mason Jars

A glass, to some,

For sipping lemonade

on a hot day

On the porch

While fanning oneself.

A planter, to some,

For planting a seed

In rich, black soil

From a plastic bag,

Or suspending

A sweet potato

On toothpicks

Into water

To watch it sprout

For a school project.

A memory, to me,

Of the jars

in my grandmother’s washroom

sparkling

in the sunlight

and enticing my cousin

and me

to sample

the pickles

without permission,

and our grandmother

pretending

to be angry.